


It's Lov-/Maybe

by listlesszo



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: M/M, Sex, but like. done tastefully, i hope yall like it, i was surprised at myself for writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26133934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlesszo/pseuds/listlesszo
Summary: Afternoon activities are not always simple.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 150





	It's Lov-/Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I haven't written anything in so long. I hope you enjoy this.

He wasn’t supposed to want this.

Wasn’t supposed to feel wanted, loved. He had to be cold in order to protect himself. To succumb to his true feelings would result in destruction, of an acceptance of feelings so complex they were better off left alone. Those feelings that bubbled up, forced his eyes to glance once, then away. But the memory would already stick, only going away after a moment alone in the dark. 

But now? His feelings were coming to the surface, desperate for air. He felt them, no longer content in the dark, escaping through his skin, his lips. To someone else.

_Take it off. C’mon._

12:35 used to be Kiyotaka’s lunch break. A sandwich, a salad. Eating alone on the bench outside his office. To think it took one day, one hour, to now spend his breaks in a room, feeling every long untouched part of his body get the affection it desperately needed.

At first it was casual. It was easy to think that way. 40 minutes, one single goal, done. The biggest sin was leaving with a crooked tie and slight bedhead. Then they-those feelings-showed themselves, and suddenly 40 minutes became an hour, one single goal turned to many-to stay a little longer, to stall the inevitable end. He never felt done, even if his body gave him a reason to think otherwise. It was like the longer he allowed this, the more he gave in to the primal urge to be-wanted? the more he needed it. Now there were many sins, too many to count, all of them suddenly in the light. 

_This will be the last time._ He told himself as he rapped his knuckles on that splintered door. _I will leave and never call him back._ He thought as big arms pinned him down and warmth, kisses, body heat, so many good things overcame him. _Never again._ His brain cried, but his heart was already jumping at the thought of their next rendezvous.

What he thought he didn’t want was now a necessity, as essential as breathing.

Especially now, as he walked into the room, already pulling on his tie with anxious need. His lust often mixed with lov-dependence, the moments of anticipation often too much for him. He hummed with satisfaction as the man he lov-wanted-dipped down and kissed him. 

They kissed first. Always. Even in the beginning. A pre-curser to the more difficult things. Except what had changed from the beginning was he didn’t want an orgasm. He cared more about the journey, the way those hands rubbed up his back. The way their bare flesh felt pressed together. _Oh god._ He was already aroused, and his lov—his… _beneficial friend_ knew it. He knew everything. Knew that he liked the side of his neck to be kissed. He knew that he liked it rough, borderline violent. If their sex was too slow, too sensual, it meant something more than he wanted. If it was rough, impersonal, it was easier to make the argument that neither of them cared. 

Except today they couldn’t rush. It was a Friday. He had a half day. And it was as if that pushed the brakes on their activities. The world forced them to slow down. Instead of ripping off each other’s clothes, he found himself in the other man’s lap, hips moving in slow circles. The need for this was so great it radiated off of their skin. Lips touched lips, crackling and dribbling in the hot afternoon air. _You make me so hard, baby._ His partn-no-sex buddy-whispers. And it briefly chokes him, his lips pull back and his throat closes, eyes dipping down.

To think arousal used to scare him. The mystery of it, how he never knew how to handle it. Then he fell in-then he changed his afternoon routine and suddenly it all made sense. Arousal was beautiful. It changed the feel of his body, made his mind shut down for once. It left him buzzed and happy, feelings he used to believe he would never experience. A drug, maybe. But the best kind.

He feels hands move lower, the sound of his belt unbuckling so tantalizing. His hips move without him thinking, the man under him a magnet. Without thought he speaks for the first time that afternoon.

_Mondo._

The unbuckling stops. The hands stop moving. Those hazy purple eyes flicker into focus. He is so close. His face is tilted, and a smile appears. Now he’ll make fun of me. But he doesn’t, just admires him. They were going slow. This was a new experience. But it makes him nervous. He tears his gaze away from those lavender eyes and pulls his belt out, then scrambles up to take his pants off. His other half-other _purely for platonic sex half_ -rolls with it. They resume kissing. Hands resume their movement, fingers dipping into his waistband. He takes off the other’s shirt, then shifts up to get the pants. Their kissing is more frenzied, missing lips and instead touching chin, jaw. Their eyes are closed, everything is by touch. Boxers get tossed, and it-that feeling of nudity, of baring one’s soul to another-fills his chest.

 _Let’s take this to the back, yeah?_ And of course he agrees, following that six foot god down the hall and to another newly familiar place-the bedroom. He has been here so many times the mattress has softened to his shape, that he doesn’t have to think twice about stepping over the random objects scattered on the floor. It’s almost like-no. No he doesn’t want to pay attention to the back of his mind, not while he’s naked with another man. Guilt can come later, in his own personal darkness. 

The crack of that familiar bottle silences the onslaught of intrusive thoughts, his body once again taking control. That sound means the next level of pleasure is soon, maybe the level that got him addicted to this in the first place. Except the bottle snaps closed. And the fingers that run down his thigh are still dry. Slow. They feel his hips, giving a pinch that makes him jolt and laugh. They move up his stomach, his chest, and as they graze his jaw lips take their spot. He laughs more. This never used to be funny. It used to just be pleasure, but now those lips bring him joy, joy beyond simple lust. No one else ever made him feel this way. It is just talent. This man has had practice. Nothing more.

Lips move lower, taking in his nipples, which perk up at the attention. Teeth join in, and his laughs mix with sudden moans. His back arches off the bed. He allows his hands to tangle in the man’s hair, then he suddenly pulls when the teeth commit and bite down. Blood rushes down. It’s almost painful but it’s good. A little pain is always good. But then the biting stops, and the bottle cracks open again. 

_Spread your legs for me._

A simple demand. Of course he complies, arms up, guard down. That familiar intrusion, one that his body learned to adjust to. They have done this enough that it takes mere seconds for his spot to be found. He squirms, puffs out breathy moans, his body both rejecting and accepting the onslaught of pure pleasure. Right as he peaks, though, the movement stops, and he is empty again. There is more to be done. Finishing too early would be disappointing, especially today. 

Grunts sound from above, a familiar melody. Combined with the slight noise of skin against skin, it could be an orchestra. He normally just lets the sound fill the room, but his head lifts to see that the other man is looking at him. Just him. That’s all it takes. Then they both look away, and he feels another intrusion. This was his favorite part. His body opening to another, every piece of him finally exposed after years of denial, of forced silence. Then the movement. Better than anything else. This is so ingrained in the both of them after so much trial and error. Back, forth, back, forth, he feels his body moving along the force, every nerve ending alighting. The bed rocks, his back arches, and he lets out a simple moan, voicing approval. He blindly grabs on to his…his…his someone, forcing him closer until their bodies are fully connected. _Just let me feel you,_ he thinks, not wanting to say it aloud. A sudden thrust in the perfect spot seizes him, rushes up and down, electricity crackling between them both. How good this feels. To be in the arms of another, to feel pleasure this intense. It has never felt this strong before. Maybe taking it slow is a good thing. His moans mingle with his-his partner’s, a chorus harmonizing with the rhythmic bump of the headboard against the wall. 

This is euphoria. White hot euphoria. His moans begin to sound urgent, and he feels his body tighten around his other half. He loves this. Loves feeling his body begin the countdown. Pressure builds, and his mind forms a coherent thought right as his orgasm strikes, words spilling out just as fast as everything else.

_I love you! Oh my god, Mondo. Please. I love you._

And tears suddenly drip down his face, the evitable now not so. He feels himself becoming filled as his lover reaches his climax, everything slowing down. Reality is within his grasp now. And he hates it. As they come down from their high, Mondo looks down at him. Neither of them speak for a long time.

“I love you too, you know.” His lover wants to sound composed, but his voice warbles and cracks over the new words. “Kiyo. I love you so much.”

The feelings are back, now in the front of his mind. Walls that were once up slowly begin to crumble down. Was this love? Maybe the beginning. Something was happening, and though the back of Kiyotaka’s mind is still forcing those horrid feelings to the front, he feels another, more deep realization float to the surface. This is no longer just sex. And maybe it never was.

“Kiyo?” Mondo’s lovely voice pulls him back. “Can you say something? Please?”

“I-“he starts, hesitates. Those eyes rest on him, so full of affection he smiles through a flood of tears. “I’m not supposed to but-let’s try it. Okay?”

Mondo nods, then presses his forehead to Kiyotaka’s. 

“Sure baby.” He whispers. And the feeling from hearing that feels so right, so perfect, that Kiyotaka closes his eyes. 

He wasn’t supposed to want this. 

But there was nothing wrong with giving it a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated.


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